Súndavar, Istalrya, Fëonar
by Amirea
Summary: Sequel to my story Manin!Wyrda!Hugin! about the happenings after the third egg hatches. To understand this, you need to read book one first. Later some lemons. ExA, MurtxOC Off Hiatus
1. Author's Note

Hi everybody,

it's me.

Again.

This is a _sequel to my story Manin! Wyrda! Hugin!_. To understand it, **it's necessary to read the previous book** before, so if you haven't, check it.

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**Warnings: **_No slash_, but later can (and will) be _violence, language_ and definitely going to be **limes & lemons**.

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This is the first 'chapter', so there are some things to clear, I promise I won't do such again for the next 20 chapters time.

Anyway, I've written a short (...) description about what have happened in book one, please read it as it may light some dark gaps (um, I do understand what I write, but this doesn't necessary mean you could follow me...). So:

**The story so far...**

Living in his castle, Amiréa was a servant of Galbatorix, but learning the death of 'the old Dragon Rider' and his dragon from her uncle, Murtagh, she decides to kill herself not being able to stand more deaths, murders or suffering. Turning against the dark king's cruelty, she steals the third dragon egg from a secret chamber and - also surprisingly for herself - manages to escape Uru'baen as well. Riding towards the Varden camp at Feinster she falls off her stolen horse, breaking her ankle fatally.

The injury turns out to be ever-lasting after Eragon (along with Arya and Saphira) rescues her from the coming Murtagh, using up the power of Aren (Brom's ring), Glaedr's Eldunarí and theirs. Arya nearly dies in the fight, so when Eragon returns, Islanzadí is too furious and frightened to think straight and yells at the Rider who becomes seriously hurt by the lack of trust, stabbing his sword into the floor of the palace, saying he would use it again when they apologize and realize their mistake. He also exclaims his love towards Arya in the ancient language. He moves to a farther cottage along with the young girl, that he considers as his niece although they aren't truly relatives.

Amiréa realizes she can use magic and decides to help Eragon and 'be useful'. She learns from Angela about herbs and meets Elva.

Murtagh, with the injured Thorn, returns to Belatona. The king tells him his intentions and orders to stay at the town unless the Varden attack. He meets a girl, Reinna who has decided to discover his secrets. Galbatorix also gives some clues him - Amiréa is more important than he thought, Arya and Eragon are together, there's a secret weapon hidden by Vrael which the rebels have found - according to a spy he doesn't name.

The Varden really find a secret chamber - it was used by the Riders as a study place. They discover many books and scrolls, being happy to be able to return to the training with Glaedr's Eldunarí. Eragon reaches a level where he can be more one with his dragon than he imagined - but beginning the exercises of this level he fences with Roran then -from unknown reason - he faints.

Meanwhile, Arya doesn't find her place on the world, she feels holes. Katrina meets her and she realizes she searches for a real home. She gets a new admirer, Grûlthar who begins to follow her wherever she goes after witnessing a scene between Arya and Eragon in the forest: she got fed up and cried in his hug. Eragon realizes that she gets out of control when Erlendr arrives at the town and tries to control her. She has embarrassing dreams and reveries about the time she lost control and embraced Eragon in the hidden studyroom and she makes a hard decision: next time it's tried to force her to obey, she will resign.

Roran walks into a scene he wants to quickly forget, when Eragon, being irritated and angry at Grûlthar kisses the out-of-control Arya and the situation gets out of their hands.

**How to read my story... **

(I know, I know...)

I'll be short: the chapters are written from different POVs, mirroring only the current characters' thoughts and knowledges. There may be some lemons later... nothing more than the one at the previous end. Also, I always change times and places and jump here and there to future or past... with the whole chapters, usually. One chapter takes place at one period of the timeline.

And now, the awaited new...

oh.

**Disclaimer:** Yeah. I almost forgot to inform you officially that I'm not Cristopher Paolini, neither get money for this. Handle it. (The following story is a fanfiction based on Christopher Paolini's work, the Inheritance Cycle. It is only written for entertainment, with no intentions of making money of it. The main characters, the world and rules and everything else which is recognisable as Paolini's work, goes to him.)

And now, the awaited new chapter...

er, I mean...

Prologue...

...remains for tomorrow?!

Too bad... :D

Amiréa

**PS **Thanks for Elvendiath and FD for getting me out of an awful writer's block.


	2. Prologue

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**book two**

**Súndavar, Istalrya, Fëonar**

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Prologue**

The town was crowded, colours whirled around on the clothes of every kind of people, soldiers and merchants and the citizens of Feinster. The warm spring sunshine broke on the mirrors; the little rainbows played with the people, springing here and there. On either side of the wide road, stalls were standing, their owners shouting in large voice. A little further, an inn offered rest for the travellers and beer for the exhausted. A brunette market woman let every passer-by know about the precious liquid she had worked out to increase a soldier's strength and speed.

In any other town in the north, it would have been something making the women beautiful, the men handsome, the humans immortal. In other towns in the north, scarlet soldiers would have glared at people, mainly at the young boys, inviting them in loud voices to the army for the Empire's glory. The walls were not covered with summons to join the special group of warriors for the lifelong wealth of their family, or warnings showing always the same some faces under the bloody 'WANTED' word.

Feinster changed to its new leaders. Inside the town nobody would have been able to find out there was an army outside the gates, but their presence had let marks behind.

Yet, it was painfully alike to some city of the Empire.

The woman didn't get noticed by anybody as she headed towards the gates of the palace. Under the long grey cloak she clutched her sword with sweated palms. The hood was big and loose, covering her whole face from any curious eyes. She kept taking cautious small steps in the crowd, her eyes on the ground, hoping nobody would notice her. She had a mission to fulfil.

When she reached the gate of the palace without difficulty, she took a shaky breath. Through the gate, a straight road led to the main entrance of the palace and the tower high above the town. The leaders and important people used the main entrance while the soldiers, maids and servants turned into the right to a backward, farther door. The people hurried everywhere around her, the guards were standing calmly on their positions. Obviously nobody cared where she went.

_So much__ for the Varden's defence… _she thought wryly walking quickly into the garden. She followed the line of the high walls hugging the garden and the palace. She turned around taking a huge circle in the garden then found the back entrance _he_ must have used. She hid behind a green bush, and, deeply amongst the shadows, observed her situation. She could not get into the palace; these people were not _so_ careless. She was still weighing her options when fate decided to help her decide.

Rhythmic dumb, dumb sounded in the air, a familiar noise. At the same time, the back entrance opened and a man stepped out she didn't know. The next one though, following him, was one she knew well, maybe too well considering they had never met in person. The man was inhumanly handsome, his hair short and brown, his eyes almond-cut. He had something cat-like in his features, something not clearly determinable. She instinctively felt he was _other_.

A slim elf woman followed him, her hair raven-black, her features holding the same elegant cat-like shapes. She was almost as tall as the Dragon Rider, she wore embroidered black corset and trousers with black leather riding-boots. Both of them wore a sword on the belt and were obviously… used to the battles and the war. She shuddered at the thought of their power – it radiated from them even as they didn't do anything just stood there motionlessly. She hurried to think about something else.

The woman was fully at ease in his company – her clothes however, were more than weird. She never saw any other woman have it as main clothing, but the natural way she wore it, made the corset seem designed for it. She was visibly a warrior; there was something in her graceful movements, fluid motions which made her yet more alike to a cat – a powerful, dangerous cat.

She was prepared to see a dragon – considering she was here to find it she had had to, but the size of the sapphire dragon frightened her. She had got quite used to Thorn at her time with Murtagh, but this was the first time she considered a dragon her _enemy_. It was a frightening image.

She focused back to Eragon, trying to forget about her: the man looked strong, but he had some gracefulness, something unfamiliarly refined in his appearance. She understood now what Murtagh meant saying he looks more an elf than a human – although it was only a few moments ago she herself first saw an elf in her life.

The other people coming out after them were talking, but neither the elf woman, nor the Rider did anything besides standing there. Sometimes their gaze met for a moment but they didn't show any emotion, they wore masks. She wondered if it was something usual for the elves or they felt uncomfortable in the presence of the leaders. The latter was not very probable, so it must have been in their 'magical blood'.

Murtagh was so other than this icy, cruel man, that her eyes got filled with tears. She closed her eyes. She had to concentrate on her mission, no matter what she felt. For _his_ sake. At his mental image her heart began to ache. No matter what he felt, she was in love with him. She dived into one of her most pleasant memories with him to get some strength from it.

When she came back to the surface, she immediately felt something had gone wrong. The people stopped talking, nervous icy silent filled the garden. Suddenly, as though the birds had stopped chirping too. When she slowly opened her eyes, suspecting something very bad, her eyes glanced a sword.

It was insane how much detail her mind processed in that one, precious last moment: the refined, detailed work of the sapphire blade, the elegance shape matching the elegance way he held it. Flaming pattern clambered up on the murderous tool from the hilt where a graceful rune named it. She knew the meaning although she couldn't read the letter – Brisingr. The sword pointed exactly at her throat, she felt the sharp blade on her skin.

She glanced up at the man whose mask became yet more solid than it had been, then back at the sword. Slowly it began to wander up on her throat and although the Rider hadn't said her a word, she immediately understood him. Slowly, very slowly, she stood up behind the green bush. The leaders gasped, she could hear it, but she just stared at him, not being able to tear her eyes away from his elegant features, not being able to choke out a word – she should have had to, she knew. It would have meant her life. Still, she wasn't able to.

"An assassin!..." One of the men shouted angrily as he found his voice again. The Dragon Rider didn't answer him. His face was hard and determined. He was going to kill her. She closed her eyes and let her secret, her precious memories overwhelm her, memories from the time when nothing had gone wrong yet.

She heard an annoyed sigh and she opened her eyes. The menacing blade disappeared from her throat. His hand reached out towards her with a waiting look on his face. As the man understood her confusion, he half smiled at her and explained his will shortly.

"Your sword." She realized only now that she was still clutching the hilt with sweated palm. She quickly offered it for him who grabbed the shaking blade easily with his gloved hands and threw it behind his back onto the ground. She wondered why he wore gloves when nobody else did.

"I…" She managed to choke out, but the gaze of those brown eyes paralysed her once again. She thought of the 'gift' she had to deliver him and was about to pull it out from under her long cloak when he stopped her, nodding as if he was reading her mind. Suddenly, she wanted to slap herself for her stupidity – Murtagh _had _warned her for that, only she hadn't believed him... entirely. He _was_ reading her mind.

_About your relationship with Murtagh… We will talk later. _She instinctively took a step back gasping. The voice in her head was powerful and… ancient. Other, unfamiliar. Her imagination showed her the image of herself roaming in the endless labyrinth of his mind – she quickly swept the image away. She thought she heard the Rider chuckle, but she was uncertain. She must have imagined it.

"What about her? What will we do with her?" An older man asked, fighting his disorientation at the Rider's behaviour. Eragon glanced at him as if first noticing they were not alone.

"Checking her mind or locking her up." A dignified woman answered him calmly. Reinna immediately recognised her from her dark skin – Nasuada, leader of the Varden. She was cold and calm and she didn't understand why. She could have been a spy, an assassin, as the man had pointed out – why weren't they afraid, the main leaders were all completely at ease. Was it such an everyday-thing here, catching an assassin?

"It is too dangerous. We can't know what she's capable of." The others started to regain their consciousness, protesting against her decision. She wondered how other this system was than Galbatorix's.

"_You _can't know what she's capable of." The elf replied mockingly in a sharp voice. The man just glanced back at her tiredly. Obviously, her behaviour didn't surprise him the least bit. He sighed.

Eragon waved her towards the entrance they had just stepped out. She turned to follow him and this was the moment when it happened.

She had half turned towards the door. Something had caught Reinna's attention unconsciously and she was deeply wondering what was missing, what was wrong. The woman was heading towards the waiting sapphire dragon, she lifted her hand to touch the scales at Saphira's neck. And she found the distracting detail immediately.

She gasped for air for a moment, forgetting about everything. She stepped back leaning against the cold wall and felt sick. She should escape this palace immediately, she discovered some precious moments later. The image in her head suddenly clicked with a harsh sound as every piece of the puzzle found its place.

Eragon was not sick, he was not dying, the Varden didn't give up, they did have a reason for not provoking the Empire, they did have the reason for resting for the winter, they did have the reason for keeping silent for almost six months. A reason which changed her whole mission. She quickly turned around but saw she had no chance to get out of the palace, and she knew she was far too late for this. She was trapped.

The silverish gedwëy ignasia glinted mockingly in the spring sunlight on the woman's palm.

**To be continued...**

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Tell me what you think... (I decided I love flames but I guess there isn't much to flame about yet... :P)

Amiréa


	3. Chapter 1 Damage

_03/11/09_

**Chapter 1**** - Damage**

The night was silent and cold. Icy wind breezed the remained leaves on the trees bringing the scent of winter into the late autumn night. The sky was dead black, no stars glinted on the dark silk. Not tonight. The moon was almost white, round and full, shining otherwise than normally as though it had known this was nothing usual.

Everybody sensed it: in the wind, in the air, in the silent. There was almost no noise in the forest, every animal hid in its shelter not risking death which was predictable. The people didn't feel it so determinably, they didn't sense _wyrda_ as the animals did: they just sensed something was not well. Not usual. They hid into their houses wondering what may have caused their shuddering every time they glanced out into the darkness from the warm, safe room.

Arya knew what the wind whispered, what the leaves rattled: it was _wyrda_. She was shivering in her tent, not with cold, but with fear. The shadow of something deep, something powerful became a heavy weight on her soul. Last time she sensed this, exactly this, it meant two deaths of two friends and endless torture for herself. She sipped from her herb tea and thought of Eragon. She sighed. If she hadn't been able to sleep, and she knew she hadn't, she could as well find out what to do with him.

She closed her eyes enjoying the warmth against her hand radiating from the mug of hot tea. It was a hard question to answer. Every time she thought about that embarrassing – fascinating, wonderful and perfect – scene between her and Eragon, her body reacted the same way, and after two seconds her pulse was racing, her eyelids heavy, her lips full and her body aware.

It was like a poison, spreading in her veins, changing her want, fighting her consciousness. She was able to feel it right now, the hot liquid working in her blood making her want to spring up and run, hurry to the man. The man who wasn't able to heal her, just inject her with more and more of the drug into her body. She knew the name of this poison too: desire. It made her forget about the cold winter night outside, feeling like on a hot summer night with flames in her blood, like magic. A poison.

She remembered the celebration of Agaethí Blödhren: the songs, the magic, the life in the air caused the same feeling. Disorientation and desire. Passion. She knew she shouldn't have this way, yet as though her body decided against her – it betrayed her. Again.

And every time she got near Eragon, his presence activated the poison working in her blood, making her feel dizzy and have reveries… reveries which were more embarrassing than she thought her mind was able to ever create. Her mind. It was the next station on the glorious journey, the next poisoned, the next destroyed, the next getting out of under her control. Suddenly, she wasn't even able to remember her arguments why she shouldn't, couldn't be with Eragon - not mentioning believing them.

It made her dizzy all the time… _If you yourself not, then who will tell you the truth? _She hated more and more that little voice in her mind. Why couldn't it be in silence? Yes, she had to admit she was feeling desire, she wanted that scene to stretch further and further until there was no stop. Yes, she had to admit she was conscious, she had known what she was doing, all the time. Yes, she knew that. But why couldn't she simply shift all the responsibility onto him?

Stupid voice… She let out an irritated sigh and stood up. There was no use resting in her tent as she wasn't able to sleep or rest or do anything besides imagining… _embarrassing_ situations. She was about to go out for a walk, run a bit in the forest and find a place of her own, then she immediately sat back remembering another time she wanted to get out of her tent and crossed the way of Blödhgarm. She definitely didn't want to meet _Erlendr_.

She sighed and lifted her mug. She stared into the steam and closed her eyes once again trying to achieve that level of calmness she always had in dangerous situations. _Relax… _Afterwards, she didn't remember much of the happenings, just that she heard someone clear his throat. Opening her eyes, the sight was so frightening and ominous she couldn't help but tremble. He mug fell to the ground making the floor wet. It had a dull sound as it dropped, she could always recall that afterwards. The hot tea droplets on her hand burnt her skin but she didn't feel it.

The expression Erlendr wore was so hard and determined; she immediately knew something very bad had happened. Something fatal. The man didn't take time to explain her anything, just grabbed her hand with a bit more force than necessary and pulled her out of her tent.

The sky was a far-stretching black silk above their heads when they left the camp running. An owl's shriek cut into the silence and Arya felt it her death-sentence. The force Erlendr held her hand was much more than any elf should use against his princess, but she didn't say a word sensing the terrible shadow above their shapes.

They were halfway to the palace when Eragon and another elf joined them, running as well. Arya wondered what event could happen shaking them so much. The moon shone stronger on a clearing they crossed and she recognised Blödhgarm in the dark shape. His face was wearing the same hard mask, but his eyes were not covered so well as his features and she could read the shock in them.

Fear pressed her heart with a sudden force. What had happened?

Eragon didn't know either, she could see that, his face was questioning and wondering. The desperate speed they had, delivered them in only five minutes to the palace, but the elves didn't stop or even slow: they headed towards the back entrance and the pressure around Arya's heart hardened. She couldn't see any reason behind keeping their arrival in secret.

They yet yards far when with a movement of his hand, Erlendr opened the door and ran further, through the door, leaving them slightly behind, showing them the way in the system of corridors and stairs and halls. She recognised it: it was the same route they had done a few days ago discovering the secret chamber. She hadn't taken much time with observing the journey and the way that time, but now, the walls became all a blur with the desperate speed.

Erlendr stepped aside in the hall in front of the spell-defended chamber-door and Arya saw every other elf was there, waiting for Eragon.

"I'm very sorry for immediately taking you here without an explanation but we have to be quick… I guess." He added, showing hesitation for the first time. His voice was even and lifeless, the voice of a dead. Eragon looked around and nodded, stepping to the door without a word. He opened it quickly, running through the corridor without glancing back. He obviously understood something Arya had no guess about.

The elves, holding their magical lamps high, followed her. They moved more slowly than he did, and Arya understood their hesitation after a moment: they had never been here yet. The corridor wasn't long, they were standing in the secret chamber in some seconds. The elves were looking around nervously and fascinated while Eragon hurried to the other end of the room, opening the soft membrane for Saphira. The dragon was worried as well.

The man was visibly a host at this place, he lighted the lamps hanging from the walls and motioned towards the middle of the great hall, pulling aside the sofas, chairs and tables with a quick ward. Behind Arya's back, another group arrived, bringing Nasuada with. To get here so soon after them, Eragon and the three elves had to pass by the little group the time they hurried through the corridors and stairs, but Arya didn't remember seeing them.

The woman didn't comprehend the situation either and seemed quite pale despite her dark skin. She stepped to the side, from where she could see everything happening but didn't disturb the elves hurrying here and there in the room. Arya felt a bit lonely as every elf seemed to avoid her gaze. Her mother's image appeared in one of the large mirrors on the walls. She was obviously wakened from her sleep when the message arrived at their camp.

Arya caught Blödhgarm glancing at her, and she was not sure what she saw in his eyes. Anger, worry, pity? Saenía, her best friend among the elf group stepped into the middle, holding a bag. As she opened it, a sound could be heard, sharp and… painful? She reached into the bag, the shrieking grew stronger, and lifted the hidden dragon egg from it. Arya exhaled the air she was not aware she was holding and stared at it in disbelief and horror. What was wrong with it?

Eragon's face reflected surprise and disbelief before his face regained the hard mask. Emotionlessly, he stepped closer and examined the egg which emitted incredible noise. The bag must have been silenced with magic. Arya felt a bit calmer as his face didn't reflect horror or shock, only concentration. He glanced at the woman who was to guard the egg after Erlendr heard some of the gossips about the … incident between Arya and Eragon.

It had nothing to do with the truth, of course, but she considered better to keep her mouth shut. She suddenly understood the look in Blödhgarm's eyes: whatever was wrong with the egg, it was her fault. It was only an hour ago that somebody else possessed the egg, for it was then she gave it to Saenía; it was her that committed the crime, whatever crime it might have been. Saenía simply hadn't been guarding it long enough.

"It is for almost half an hour now…" Saenía whispered and Arya could see the tears in her eyes she didn't cry. Half an hour… it was definitely _her_ fault. Eragon nodded and gently caressed the emerald surface. The shrieking stopped for a moment then continued with new force.

"Maybe you could… you could use some scrolls to… to find out what's wrong. If… if it's something wrong…" Erlendr suggested nearly stuttering. Arya could see on his face he didn't honestly believe it could be fixed now. Eragon nodded.

"Maybe I could." His voice was calm and if she hadn't known the impossibility of it, she would have said he was amused. At least his voice was calmer and less shocked than the elves were. It was a bit comforting he knew something about it, there was somebody to ask about it. Though, the worried expression remained on their faces: no matter who in particular, an elf had guarded it, and obviously hadn't guarded it well enough. The shock was all in their eyes.

He thought for a moment then stepped to a shelf, reading the titles one by one. He obviously found the one he was searching for and he sat down comfortably onto one of the sofas. Saphira groaned and touched the egg with his snout. The emerald stone did the same as before, at Eragon's caress: stopped then continued it even louder.

The minutes passed slowly by and Arya sensed the first wave of exhaustion as the shock slowly disappeared of her. Meanwhile all the leaders arrived, looking around with curious eyes not knowing what was going on. Arya felt strange gazes on herself which made her uncomfortable. It was considered her fault, she knew that without anybody mentioning it. Staring back at Islanzadí and Saenía, she let out an annoyed sigh. Being annoyed was so much better than being terrified.

"Saphira's egg never did this. And this either." Eragon glanced at her thoughtfully then back at the scroll in his hand. Nobody replied her and the woman began to feel more and more uncomfortable. Time passed by and the egg continued to shriek. Arya buried her face into her hands. This was not her day and although she had felt something was going to be wrong, she was grateful for nothing fatal had happened. Eragon was going to fix the problem whatever it was and everything was going to be back to normal. It just had to be.

The man surfaced from the scroll and, not being bothered by the intense looks into his direction, walked to the shelf and pulled the scroll back. People waited for him to do something, do anything and the air became filled with tension in a moment. He stepped to the egg and placed his palm onto the emerald surface murmuring almost soundlessly. Arya tried hard but she couldn't make out a word of the spell he used.

It took long and she had time to consider the _bad_ option. If something had gone wrong and Eragon would not be able to solve it. If it was her fault that they lost the last dragon egg in Alagaësia. It was not too cherish option. She swallowed and stared at Eragon, praying soundlessly.

The man finished his long ward and lifted his hand from the egg. Turning it upside down, she saw the gedwëy ignasia glinting with silver light on his palm. Little ball made from emerald flames appeared above it whirling with incredible speed. The ball moved forward and Eragon followed the movement towards the door. He was walking slowly checking every step using the ball as a guide.

Arya looked around and suddenly realized how alone she was. Every other elf disappeared from her leaving her alone. She forced herself to stand calmly while Eragon took his last step to her. He was standing very close, too close. She felt she would faint. So it _was_ her fault.

The man's hand clenched into a fist killing the little flame ball. The Dragon Rider sighed unhappily and examined her features. She knew she blushed but couldn't help it. Eragon stared deeply into her eyes while he commanded everybody out of the room. Only Nasuada, Orrin, Orik and her mother's reflection remained. His voice was so cold, nobody dared to protest, not even Erlendr. The people glanced at her for a last time or better say, glared at her.

When the last person had left the chamber, he waited another moment to close the outside door at the end of the corridor. Arya knew what he waited for, but the leaders became disoriented when he waited further than they could see a reason to, and started to speak all at the same time. Arya collapsed to one of the sofas and buried her face into her hands. She took some deep breaths and looked up. There was no use of crying now. Eragon was still watching her.

He lifted the egg from the cushion Saenía had placed before leaving.

"Can you… fix the damage I had done?" Arya whispered forcing back her tears. She felt so guilty.

The Rider glanced at her with lifted eyebrows. "Nobody can… 'fix the damage you had done'." He repeated. The woman felt suddenly very weak. As though the world had lost all the colours. Everybody stood silently waiting for him to explain.

The Rider walked to Arya, placing the egg into her lap. The people in the room stared at him with shock and disbelief. Disorientation filled her. Then, she discovered the small crack on the brilliant emerald surface. She paced her fingertip at it and felt the egg tremble at her touch. She stared at Eragon with a sense of suspicion.

His voice was low yet clearly comprehensive in the silent room as he emphasized each word. "You are the last Dragon Rider, Arya."

**To be continued…**


	4. Chapter 2 Rise

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Sorry I hadn't updated sooner, I still don't feel this chapter entirely right, mainly the beginning which is a bit awkward, but I just didn't want to stretch it further. (it took so long because... er... ok, I admit I decided the previous version of the chapter... wasn't good enough, and er... I deleted it. ^.^ However, it will be used to Chapter 3.)

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Chapter 2 - Rise  
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It was pouring, heavy water-drops knocked against the window whenever the wind turned. Nobody could be seen outside, everybody was closed up into their houses. The rain had been pouring for more than two days, and everybody had grown impatient.

Reinna felt some tension in her body, something she was not able to define or describe and she had never felt before. The tension was not only in her rigid body but in the air as well. There was nothing softening it. She didn't know what caused it, but a big storm and some lightning could ease on it, she was sure. She looked around in her small room and forced herself to stay in front of the window and not begin to pace back and forth nervously.

She stared out from the window and forced herself back to that numb state she had been during the past days. So, when a young girl was waving her on the yard, at first she didn't realize what it meant. But after a moment, the realization hit her and looking around for her cloak she started to run here and there in the room crazily. She had to hurry, she couldn't be late.

Five minutes later, she felt as though she had been about to expose. She fell over in her own foot and knew that it was a lost battle. She had to go without her cloak – she couldn't have taken more time. She opened the door and ran through the yard. The thick mud splashed under her feet, and although she had lifted the bottom of the long dress she was wearing, she knew it was going to be fatally muddy for the time she arrived.

She couldn't do anything about it though, so she kept running. She sighed as she reached the arcades besides the yard and shook her head. Her hair was all soaked from the rain and stuck into her face and onto her scalp. She was shivering with cold in her clothes which became heavier with several pounds as the thick cloth absorbed the wetness.

She suspected that half the soil of the yard materialized on her many underskirts as she had no chance to keep in hand her every single skirt at the same time. At least the more valuable embroidered upper dress avoided the mud. She tried not to think about it and rather grabbed the trace with the lord's lunch and hurried towards the high staircase.

It needed all her strength to be able to make it to the top. The heavy skirt was a dead weight pulling her back, hindering her every step. Her legs were painfully trembling the time she reached the wooden door which was closed as always. She lifted her hand to knock and stared at it in shock.

It was all wet and muddy and looked like she had been on the street for the last three days. Her soft white skin looked indescribably awful, attracting tears into her eyes. Suspecting bad, she looked over her body. She was miserable, her clothes soaked and muddy, her lunges aching, gasping for air, her legs hurting and trembling.

The trace became muddy as she had placed it onto her lifted thigh to free one of her hands and be able to knock on the door. Blood flew into her face and her cheeks must have turned redder than the scarlet cloth her dress was made of. She had no chances though: she had to deliver him the food. She took a deep breathe and quietly knocked.

The man didn't answer. He never did. She opened the door and hurried to the table placing the trace onto it. She didn't look up to search for him; she saw Murtagh was standing at the window, his back towards the rain, but she avoided his gaze. She turned around without a word, knowing he would not like to chat with her or await her to say anything. She went to the door and sighed in relief: this wasn't that hard at all.

She was taking her finger at the knob when she, following her routine of the past week, wished him good appetite.

"I don't have." She heard a deep bass behind her. She turned around so quickly her skirt whirled in the air from the sudden movement twirling around her leg, and she fell against the wood with her back in her surprise. Murtagh was staring at her thoughtfully, not saying anything more.

"Pardon?" Her voice was shaking and she hated herself for that. She must have looked like a weak puppet compared to the strong powerful lord opposite her. She shivered at his cold eyes and suddenly became well aware of everything in the room.

"I don't have appetite." He answered, his voice steady and calm and heavy, like rich velvet. She stared back at him, her eyes questioning. It was a feeling: she was a young girl, somebody weak and too innocent, too inexperienced standing in the same chamber that this man, who was able to kill, to murder, to fight battles. A warrior.

The room was comfortably warm and dry, not like the yard outside, still, she was shivering. She told herself that only because of the coldness of her clothes all soaked, but a chill ran down her spine and she knew she was lying herself. She could feel from the air of the room that he was in a bad mood. She had been bringing his food for a week, three-four times a day, so she had become completely aware of his moods just from the air of the chamber without glancing at him.

Right now, something dark was whirling in him, something dark she could not help about. The man waved her as a dismissal and stepped to the table with a disgusted frown on his face. Something pulled her there – and as always, she followed her instincts no matter how bad their advice seemed. She just didn't want to let him alone here in such a mood.

The man glanced up at her as she stepped close to the table as well. His eyes were deep and she couldn't read the emotion in them. It was like a mirror, reflecting his thoughts, the only one what could tell that he was… depressed. Those two wells confirmed what she had already known and she instinctively shuddered of the dark depth.

"Would… would you prefer something else?" She stuttered blushing again - remembering she had wanted to escape this chamber the soonest. A crooked smile appeared on his mouth as she turned her gaze and head to the ground, she could see that from the corner of her eyes.

"No, thank you." His answer was polite, more polite than a lord would have needed to use with his maid, but his tone added some deeper meaning his words that she couldn't identify clearly. The only noise in the room was now her breathing which was quick and loud with the shivering.

She sensed his fingertip touch her burning cheek. He caressed her. Like he was just trying how it felt against his hard, rough hand. His hand with which he had killed before. Slowly, not wanting his finger to leave her face, she lifted her head and looked up at him. He was standing closer than she had thought. Just a few inches away.

She knew she was going to die, she was doing wrong, but the decision – that crazy decision – had already formed in her. She stood up on her toes and leant to him, touching her lips against his. She slowly kissed him, his hand at her face undecided for a moment, then he obviously came to a decision and his fingers slipped into her wet hair at her neck. He leant into the kiss, forcing the girl closer to him.

A surprised moan escaped her throat as the man parted her lips and his tongue slipped into her mouth. He kissed her with such intensity she had never imagined to exist, and she had no other choice but give him what he wanted. Passion woke up in her and her body began to burn. She had never experienced such defencelessness: she was entirely at the man's mercy, not being able to do anything besides letting him take of her everything he wanted.

The kiss ended abruptly. The man jerked away, leaving the girl alone. She swallowed hard. Her lips were swollen and too full. She felt herself empty as if the man had stolen from her. Her heart was racing and blood was thudding in her ears, her breathing uneven and fast.

She managed to lift her eyelids and return from the daze. The man was staring at her frowning, his hands grabbing the table on her both side. His knuckles were white from the force and she suspected he was having a hard time trying to rule himself, yet, his voice was even and emotionless when he spoke. "You had better go now."

The girl weakly nodded, but her legs were trembling so badly she knew she couldn't get too far. The clothes on her bare body had become colder in a moment. "Reinna." He lifted his eyebrow as she didn't take a movement. There was something in the way he said her name.

Something that made her stay.

She knew she was wrong already before she committed the crime, but she just closed her eyes. "You should go home." He said sensing her uncertainty. His statement was logical, he was right, but his voice was husky. She could feel his breath on her neck and she shuddered. She touched his face with shaking fingers. The man caught it and took her fingers into his palm. He murmured something unintelligible and paced along on her arm with his rough palm. Where he touched her, warmth spread into her body. He did the same at her other arm as well.

He didn't stop when he reached her shoulders, he slipped his fingers up into his hair pulling out the long hairpins she had put her hair into a bin in the morning with. "What…" She wanted to ask, but then she understood and froze in one place. He was using magic to dry her clothes, the cloth on her arms had become the same soft silk it had been before the rain, if not even softer and more vivid scarlet.

She closed her eyes hoping he was very careful and knew what he was doing. She wouldn't have liked to burn to ashes under his gentle fingers.

"Thank you." She whispered sensing her hair free from the wetness and flow around her face softly, like the magic-helped dress embracing her figure.

"I must be insane, don't you think? Using magic to dry your clothes in a situation there could be much more comfortable ways to warm you up – much more preferable ways, I must say."

"Then why… why are you letting me go?" She didn't understand it more he seemed to – she was defenceless against him and she was in his bedroom by her own want.

"I don't let you go." The look on his face was dangerous, with a glint in his eyes which was a hunter's. "I just… you could say I play with my prey first." He answered thoughtfully leaning close to her and gently biting her ear. She swallowed hard – it would have sounded ridiculous from anybody else's mouth, but from his, it sounded darkly.

Though, there was a strange sense in the room, a strange feeling not passing since he said her name: that she was safe here. That he wasn't going to hurt her, that he was going to take care of her. There was no intelligible reason why she felt so – she just trusted him.

She leant closer to him and embraced his neck to keep herself straight as her feet became suddenly very weak. He paced on her neck with his mouth and her head fell backwards. World, time, chamber, right, wrong became all a blur as everything faded away. Just the hotness remained, hotness she hadn't known about, hotness gathering in her stomach, hotness making her kiss back with a passion she hadn't known she had had.

Everything burnt on fire, flames burnt under her skin, her head was dizzy, but she didn't need it: she was finally _feeling_. Her world danced around and nothing mattered besides the row passion and desire. She melted the coldness in him, she could feel when he finally gave up fighting against her, and she felt herself a goddess, she felt she was ruling on him, she was having everything on earth. She knew it wasn't real, that her power was lasting only for a few moments: but those few moments felt valuable enough to forget about every other moment of her life.

The man wasn't gentle anymore, wildness filled them and passion raged around in the room while both of them became mellow. Nothing mattered anymore, king, country or war. It was just the two of them on the world. He didn't bother to take her into his bed: they forgot about it at the beginning. He had her where they were standing, at the table.

**To be continued...**


	5. Chapter 3 Good morning

**Chapter 3 – Good morning**

It was just before dawn. The sun slowly appeared above the horizon, chasing away the darkness' quilt. The animals and people began to wake up and do their job as always. The same as yesterday: the birds were chirping greeting the warmth of the sunbeams, moving their stiff muscles, the animals surfaced from their shelters. The night was cold, but now, it was the period of light and warmth again.

Eragon knew it was not only a new day beginning, but a new age beginning. He glanced at Arya sitting on the floor, the egg lying in front of her. During the night, the cracks had become more determined and wider, the trembling quicker. The little dragon in the emerald stone wanted to come out immediately, but he had to work for it hard.

The man observed the first reddish bows shining from under the heavy curtains, painting the floor and the hall into scarlet and orange. It was peaceful here, the fear and worry of the long night disappeared. Eragon could see the change on Arya, more than she may have felt. Her features were relaxed, for the first time for almost a month, her eyes glinting, her mouth curling up into an unconscious smile. She was beautiful.

The sunshine danced around her, playing with her hair and her shape, surrounding her and giving her an aura of untouched innocence and magic. The scarlet light harmonized with her green eyes matching the colour of the egg, the colour of her dragon – emerald.

The image was beautiful and Eragon knew that someday he would make a fairth of it. Yet, his heart was aching at the same time and he closed his eyes. The sadness was whirling in him slowly and was faint but permanent since he realized that she was going to be the next Rider. Saphira poked him with her snout and he felt the same emotions whirl around in her too.

They didn't talk, just shared the feeling, trying to find out where it came from. They should be happy, shouldn't they? The faint shadow remained there, bringing chill into his body. And Eragon knew they shouldn't. Arya was a Rider, yes. But Oromis had died and although Glaedr was able to teach the new Dragon Rider… it was not going to be the same.

They would have to be sort of half masters for Arya, train her. Have to wait until her dragon grew large enough. Keep the news in secret, but make sure the Varden were safe even if Murtagh attacked…

Eragon felt the new decision form in him and he knew Saphira had thought the same way. They were going to do everything to get five months of safety for Arya and the little new dragon. In five months, the dragon was going to be able to defend himself and Arya, and breathe fire as well. In five months, they were going to be relatively in safe. As safe as they could be with Galbatorix alive.

But until then, they had to be careful, very careful. A new Dragon Rider was going to be a great value and a great fortune for the Varden – if she lived long enough. This was the time she was the most vulnerable: after the hatch. The dragon was not large and experienced enough, the Rider didn't know the borders of her skills or how to handle the situation and easily, they could die both.

Not if he lived, Eragon promised himself soundlessly. Not until he himself died.

He closed his eyes and felt it was the last moment before the fight, the last breath before the diving. The last moment when he could gain some strength before the long war began. After this last moment of silence, the storm was going to rage above their heads and they could not be sure where they would be after it.

He had to fight for her, for the new Dragon Rider and his love. He watched as her smile widened, caressing gently a crack on the glinting surface. She deserved happiness and a chance to be able to train normally, live the 'normal' life of a Rider. She deserved it. Some time free with her little dragon, some time she didn't have to think about the war and battles, just the warmth of home and peace.

Something Murtagh and Thorn didn't get.

_We will have to fight a lot harder… But Arya is a strong gir__l _(Eragon became slightly distracted that anybody could talk about the elf as a girl, because she definitely wasn't, _oh, how much she wasn't_)_,_ _she can survive it, whatever fate measures her as a destiny. Don't fear for her. _Saphira agreed him, but for less personal reasons.

_She's so vulnerable and fragile... I know I shouldn't, but I can't help it. _Eragon replied his dragon uneasily. _And look at Islanzadí! I don't like at all that light in her eyes. She looks at Arya like a hunter at his prey. It makes me worry._

_We'll see, _Saphira snorted. She was going to go against the queen or anybody who would try to force his or her will onto the new dragon.

Their conversation finished as they both felt the weak pull in their mind. Eragon glanced at Saphira, and walked back to the main hall where Arya was sitting and Saphira leant closer straightening her neck. The woman looked up at him and he smiled back at her. He sat down onto the floor a bit farther behind Arya's back.

The tremble grew stronger, shaking the egg, nearly spinning around on the floor while the noises coming from it grew louder. The people in the room felt that it was the time. Some wide cracks all along the shape of the emerald stone became more and more prominent, and the little piece of shell they bordered lifted with a sudden movement.

Arya watched it with wide eyes, a soft smile playing on her lips. The piece of shell fell back then lifted again as the little creature pushed it up impatiently. The broken part of the emerald shell fell onto the ground at last, not covering the young beast inside anymore. Eragon suspected it was the dragon's wing appearing in the hole, but he couldn't be certain. The limb played in a beautiful shade of emerald green though, this was sure.

Arya let out an excited little sigh and he felt a sudden urge to embrace and kiss her. But he just observed the woman watching her hatching dragon silently, wanting to keep the sight preserved in his mind forever. The process became quicker now. The dragon found the best method to crack the shell which had been protecting him so far and now large pieces of emerald stone fell onto the ground one by one.

The fragile creature let out a pleased sigh when he succeeded to free himself, very similar to the one Arya had had a moment ago. Eragon quietly chuckled and knew the two were going to make a perfect couple. The dragon was clumsy, not knowing what to do with his limbs and how to use them for his will. Slowly, after many unsuccessful tries, he discovered the most comfortable way to exist: head upwards, feet downwards.

It was a piece of cake from now on: somehow balance the yet too large wings, not bothering with them, but also making sure they weren't under either of his pads as well as the long tail which wasn't good for anything just to get him out of balance and distract him even more. The main, the only important thing was moving the feet. Or, at least, arranging them some way he would get a steady position.

After some minutes, this hard task was completed and the dragon was standing almost right on his shaking feet which _always_ tried to ditch him. He was irritated at his clumsiness too and obviously decided he had had enough of moving for a time and he sat down, getting more of a balance. His nostrils moved quickly as he curiously registered the scents in the air. The most interesting was the other creature kneeling not far of him.

Arya watched him try his newly discovered body and the feeling he was out, he was in a new world. She chuckled at his desperate urge to steady himself and at the expression he wore when he decided sitting was safer: he was almost pouting. Then, the dragon's attention turned towards her and she blushed under his observation. She turned to Eragon for some advice.

The Rider smiled at her back. She was clueless and she wondered what she should do now. "I… don't feel any difference." She admitted almost shyly and as she said it, she realized how true this was. She didn't feel the mental bond or any connection to the little dragon. She just… observed from outside, not being closer to her dragon than any of the others. She quickly stood up feeling confused.

Eragon stood up as well and gently touched her arm squeezing it. He motioned towards the dragon on the ground. "Just touch him." His expression was calm but Arya saw something weird in his eyes she couldn't define. The woman nodded uneasily and stepped closer, leaning down to his snout. He felt her astonishment as he followed her. Arya glanced back at him for a last time then reached his skin.

Arya shouted in shock as the pain flashed through her body. She lost the reign over her body and would have measured out her length on the floor if Eragon hadn't been standing close behind her. He caught her and lifted her up, embracing her slightly trembling figure with one hand at her knees and one at her shoulders. He stepped to a sofa and gently placed the shaking woman onto it.

Her breathing was hard and quick and she closed her eyes in her pain, but he could see it was lessening by the relaxing of her muscles. He wondered if he had spent also that much time lonely on the floor in Garrow's house and shuddered. He caressed her cheek and whispered to her in the ancient language to calm her down: he knew exactly how scary the experience was.

"What…" She began to ask when the pain lessened enough.

"Sssh, it's fine. It will disappear in a minute."

He had learnt from the scrolls that an elf's change was quicker than a human's, but more painful. The change in a human's case was less painful as magic was more unfamiliar to the body which was not able to react or try to fight against it, but it needed deeper changes and so more time. In the case of an elf whose body was more familiar with magic, being able to try and fight against it, the change was harder and so more painful, although it didn't last so long: an elf's body was already immortal, did not need the 'infection' of magic, pointed ears or deep changes.

Arya finally opened her eyes and her expression wore exhaustion on it when she slowly sat up. She glanced at her palm on which the gedwëy ignasia had appeared and was glinting with fresh silver shine.

"We are matching now, I guess." Eragon grinned at her offering her his right hand, his palm with the gedwëy ignasia up. The woman smiled faintly and took his hand. Eragon pulled her up. The woman held his hand a moment longer than it was necessary and looked deep into his eyes.

"You could have warned me."

"Sorry." He replied shortly. He nodded himself, already deep in thought.

Shaking her head, Arya turned her attention back to her newly found soul mate. The little dragon was sitting on the ground helplessly, watching curiously the others around him. His tiny eyes followed every motion in the room suspiciously.

Arya crouched down to him and the creature managed to step closer. Her mind, used to loneliness all too well, could now feel the new bond between them, connecting two bodies and two souls that couldn't have had more differences.

"_Good morning, __hatchling." _

**To be continued…**


End file.
